Lonely, but not sorrowful

Sitting in the cold wet grass

Resigned to season change

Summer burns away

Short, sometimes glorious

Sometimes fleeting

In times of leisure passing unaware

Disappearing without notice

Noting that fact

Arising walking toward the water

It is cold and salty

In the depths it is winter already

World of krakens and such

Beach holds no revelations

Only noise, absence of human sound

Birds shitting and squawking

Fish there, but unapparent to the eye

Avoiding the water, too brisk a day

For water logged shoes

Some moments cannot be stamped

By signatures of time or date

Only moments framed by themselves

Loneliness starts to needled at me

Urban instinct desires activity

Moment and sound of the hive

Walk up through the overgrown

Green brown-splotched grass

Toward the house

Strolling passed the peeling paint

Toward the narrow two lane road

Ten-minute walk to town

Where the date and time

Are always clearly stamped

Gene G. McLaughlin 2004

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